Obsidian Light
by Rachael torie b
Summary: They say the Ancestors gave us magic as a gift for our reverence. For our devotion. It's supposed to be a blessing, but for some of us, it's a curse. For me, it's a curse. My name is Truth, and my life is a lie. Submit Your Own Character / SYOC
1. Chapter 1, Magic Blood

_Hello all, welcome to my newest story! It's of course a Submit Your Own/Original Character story (otherwise abbreviated as SYOC). Honestly, I'm not expecting many submissions simply because I realize this idea is neither fan fiction or entirely original, but I fancy it at the moment so I'm going to write it. Or at least try…_

 _So read the chapter, decide if you're interested or appalled, and then depending on your respective reactions maybe submit._

 _ **A**_ blood-curdling war cry tore from my chest as I unleashed my sphere of pulsing magic, arms thrown forward, palms out and facing up.

It barreled and careened into Arkiro, striking him faster than he could cast a ward to protect himself. The force was brutal, sending him back into a wayward spiral that left him spread on the black shiny stones of the floor.

I swirled my hand in a circular motion; the magic thrumming and burning and slithering beneath my skin like hissing snakes. This time, I was going to do it.

This time, I was going to be free.

Arkiro's nose was bleeding, a thick stream of dark red that ran and ran, but his eyes were still sharp and glinting, and so was his dagger. It sailed expertly through the air, a wicked _whoosh,_ and buried itself into my chest to its obsidian hilt. I stared at it, the crimson swell weeping ferociously around the dagger's solidity. It felt hot, boiling. I screamed, my own ears protesting the harsh noise.

The world seemed suddenly drunk, spinning and tipping like the inebriated so often do. The floor wasn't kind as it embraced me.

I wrested the dagger from myself, conjuring a pool of tears and blood as I did so. I flowed, I flowed like a river. Hot, frigid, red world with a gaping river. I clamped my hands over it-sobbing-and they became instantly warm and slippery, blood escaping between my fingers like they weren't even there. Sickness rolled and sloshed like stagnant water through my stomach and panic struck like bolts of lightening.

Beaten black boots materialized in my line of failing vision, spots just as black streaking across it.

"H-help me." My voice was weak, raspy. I choked on the taste of copper.

Ungentle arms scooped me up unceremoniously, a splitting pressure that burnt and ate my nerves rocketing through my torso at the force of it. I felt the wound begin to throb faster with the amount of blood flowing from it.

My consciousness became a physical, tangible thing-bouncing and clanging off the walls of my head, fading in and out. A light in an electrical storm. It's a strange sensation, being aware without being aware of it.

I was laid on something soft, but the movement hurt like the surface might've been concrete. A pressure, a horrible sizzling pressure, was placed on my wound. I thrashed like an animal-feral and dying-or a demon being exorcised-desperate to cling to its host. Screams filled my ears like liquid metal; they didn't sound like me.

I was drowning-boiling-in something hot for what must have been hours. Blood or sweat or both. Numbly, I noticed the taste of magic in my mouth. It wasn't mine.

 _ **P**_ ain. Fever.

Fever & pain.

There was plenty of each, swimming through my veins all night long. Dreams also afflicted me, and they were just as harrowing. Dreams of a lady, gaunt and crying-my mother I suppose. Dreams of escape, dreams of a river cutting through the darkened earth, red and rushing-my blood.

My lids were heavy, opening them was exhausting. But I did it anyway. The surroundings were dark and shadows danced like demented little ballerinas around the hazy expanse. I blinked several times, and they went away.

I was in one of the guest bedrooms, the one with the jade silk and dark varnish furniture.

Dizziness seeped into my head, leaking into my stomach from there: I was still here, I hadn't escaped. The only thing I managed to do was have a near-death experience.

The memory of the deep crimson hole in my chest jolted through me, my hands flying up to survey the damage. My frantic fingers sought and sought, only to find soft, sore warm skin, more smooth than a newborn infant's. I sucked in a startled breath.

"I severed an artery. You were dying-it took three servants to heal you this time."

Instantly, I froze. Panic ebbed back in; my heart began beating erratically.

"I know you're awake, Truth. You think I don't know how you sound when you sleep?" Arkiro mused.

I still didn't move, not an inch.

"Who did you use?"

"That's not the most important-"

I cut him off. "Who. Did. You. Use?" I ground out each word, rocks in my mouth, being spit out one at a time.

Long, insufferable seconds ticked by, and I began to believe he'd left. He moved so silently it was plausible that I wouldn't notice.

"First, I used Ira, but the old man wasn't strong enough to do much of anything. So I chose younger. The twins, Boyd and Bray- those were their names I think," Another pause as he shifted in his chair, making himself more comfortable, "Or were they Brick and Brian? Never mind. You know who they were, anyway."

I did know. I knew all of them, and he knew that. I sniffled weakly.

"Oh come on. You should be elated this is how they died, saving you. It would have happened sooner or later. Chances are, it would've been much, much worse. If anything, you saved them." He spoke softly, a murmur said in a reasonable tone.

"No thanks to you." I said, bitter and sick.

"You tried to kill me first, remember?" His voice was so gentle, not angry at all; it made me want to ripe out his tongue so he couldn't talk to me anymore.

I clenched the cool blanket in my fists. "I'm tired and I've got a headache. I'm going back to sleep."

Please leave, please just go.

I felt the bed dip, and when he touched my arm I flinched. His breath chilled my cheek as he bent to brush his lips against it. A cold, lingering kiss.

He brushed a strand of hair out of my face with his thumb. "Feel better; I'll see you at dinner."

I stayed in that bed for hours more, but I didn't sleep. I cried. I cried for Ira, for the twins, and for myself. I'd never leave this place, not as long as I lived- and neither did they.

Mona watched me warily while I braided my own hair. Her hands would float about at her sides and then still again. They reminded me of two little birds, hopping around on a windowsill.

"Are you sure you don't want me to do that?" It was the third time she'd asked.

I looked back at her in the vanity mirror as I finished the braid in the center of my back.

"Positive. I'm done now anyway. See?" I picked up the thick cord of dark hair and showed it to her.

She eyed it with a particular interest. "Very nice." Mona said at last, doing a little half nod half duck.

The woman was obviously bothered by something, and I didn't truly believe it was my braid. I scooped up a random handful of cosmetics.

"Want to do my make-up?" I offered, smiling.

"Of course." Her answer was immediate, almost out before I was finished speaking, and she rushed forward as if I were on fire.

I sat on the lace adorned seat as the beautifying process began. The foundation hid the red puffiness of well enough, but there was nothing to be done for the bloodshot lines streaking across the whites of my eyes. Even if I hadn't been magically depleted, I wouldn't have wasted it on something so trivial. Magic was far too precious, and obtaining it was far too hard.

Mona stopped her work again while putting on the shimmering eye-shadow.

"What is it Mona?" I was about to open my eyes, but she had already resumed running the little applicator over my lids. Back and fourth, back and fourth frantically. It kind of hurt.

"It's nothing Miss…it's just. It's…"

"Mona, spit it out. You won't offend me, I promise."

"It's not that Miss." She snapped the eye-shadow shut and laid it down on the vanity, her back to me.

"Then what is it?" I asked her softly.

She made eye contact with me in the mirror. "I cleaned up the blood. Yesterday, I cleaned it up."

"Oh." How was I supposed to explain everything was fine without tipping off nothing was.

"Are…you alright?" She appeared stricken.

"I'm fine. It was an accident; that's all. Arkiro healed me." Please don't ask how. I won't be able to tell you.

Mona looked at me for a long time. A full minute passed.

Finally, she cast her eyes downward and said, "Of course." And smiled the brightest, most fake smile I've ever seen. She scurried to the bed where two evening gowns were carefully lain out; she took one in each hand.  
"Red or blue?"

I sighed internally, an acute little pain beginning to throb behind my left eye.

"Red."

So there's the beginning. Next chapter I hope to announce the cast list, which is why I ended it at that point. Okay, on to necessary story information.

What you need to know:

This takes place in a fictionalized setting. Anything or one resembling real life events and people is purely accidental/coincidental. I'm not stealing anything nor I am stalking you.

The story is set in Davinangeles, a fictional realm where magic ability equals power and it is not spread evenly. The magic-born are called Elites, Primes, and Paragons to indicate their superiority of blood. The upper class and gentry like to believe it is their wealth, taste, and exceptional breeding that cause the Ancestors to gift them with such extraordinary ability, but in all reality it seems to be just as random as the places trees grow.

The Ancestors are most of the Davinangelesian deities because they are from which the people descended in The Era of Dawn (the beginning of time for them). They are seen as godlike beings who created civilization and established the Gem Dynasty, the ruling family who have been in power for as long as anyone could care to remember. If it's one thing Davinangelesians hate is change, which is mainly why the only 'dark' Ancestor is Akila - deity of change, chaos, and revolution. All of the Ancestors are depicted as two figures, both man and woman, because no one really knows what gender they were.

The only established city in the realm is Arknobane, a fortress like city carved from mysterious black stone during The Era of Dawn by the Ancestors. It's home of the Gem Palace, the seat of the royal dynasty. It's the heart and soul of Davinangeles. If something were to happen to it, the realm would soon shrivel and die.

Gender roles there aren't nearly as strict as our own, and there are no other nationalities, so racism isn't an issue either. What causes disparity in this realm is class, wealth, deities, and most importantly magic. Less than one percent can use it, and those who can't wish they could.

Davinangeles is technologically advanced, through magic and regular means. They have a lot of the same things we do, except they aren't exactly the same and look way different. For example, they have electricity, but not the internet, smart phones, and computers simply because these things aren't thought to be needed. Communication is done by letters (for normal people) and for Elites communication can really be done any way they wish- they're magic for Pete's sake.

Davinangeles is a very scenic realm, filled with lovely lethality. It often times doesn't make much sense - it was forged from magic, the most unpredictable of the arts after all. Locations have been known to just disappear, people have fallen up, walls erected from shimmering black stone out of positively nowhere, children speaking in strange languages no one's ever heard. It has cold, hot, and mild weather, but no seasons. In the morning it could be radiantly sunny, but come nightfall it could be snowing.

In Davinangeles, nothing is free, not even magic. It must come from somewhere - everyone has it inside them; only the Paragons can take and manipulate it. It's not pretty business, and even though magic is sheer unpredictability, there's one thing you can forever count on: it always has a price.

The Ancestors:

Mercy- often depicted as the most humanistic of the bunch. Embodies forgiveness, protection, familial love, light, pure intentions, olive branch, friendship, trust, sometimes weakness, and diplomacy.

Roko- depicted as intelligent, ingenious, creator of the sciences, king of architecture, maker of medicine, healer, the arts, methodical warfare, and clarity of thought.

Tamalia- Mystery, fate, time (past, present, and future), memories, dreams, premonition, mystic connections, souls, and emotions, especially love and hate.

Akila- Chaos, change, blood, revolution, lies, darkness, the night, unpredictability, trickery in warfare, nightmares, warnings, sensuality, and, to an extent, magic itself (people tend to deliberately forget this).

Now, where the story actually begins. One of the main characters is Truth, a seventeen year old Elite who lives in MorganNight Manor with Lord Arkiro MorganNight. Her past is mystery because she was abandoned at the age of four by her mother, who left her with Arkiro. Truth doesn't know why; Arkiro is insistent on not telling her. He's essentially held her captive: no friends, no visits, no outside influences. She's tried to leave multiple times, but it never really ends well for her, as you've probably deducted for the passage. Arkiro is an Elite as well- the most powerful one anyone's ever known. He uses his power to defy the laws the nature, cheating death and screwing life. The man may look about 18-25, but he's a lot older…

As apology for nearly almost killing her and to quench her apparent unhappiness, Arkiro decides to turn his magnificent manor into a fancy Boarding School for Elites/Paragons/Primes, but he also wants them there for a more ulterior, nefarious motive as well… Which is where your OCs come in! (There's much more to it, but I'm feeling cagey…)

So, here's the submission form, have fun, be creative. Also please read the whole chapter (including the lengthy bout of information) so you'll know what the hay is happening. * means optional.

Name:

Age: (12-22)

Gender:

Economic standing: (rich, poor, etc.)

Personality: (Be descriptive as you can)

List of positive personality traits: (Just list em')

List of negative personality traits: (same as above)

Appearance: (Include scars, tattoos, make-up, unique markings, etc.)

*Personal History: (Optional because I know the info may be confusing)

How do they feel about being a Prime/Elite/Paragon?

How does their family and/or friends feel about it?

How adept are they at magic? (Scale of 1 : 10, 10 being scary good, one being no skill whatsoever)

Family:

*Friends:

How moralistic are they?  
What do they think of MorganNight Manor?  
What do they think of Truth?

What do they think of Arkiro?

Fears:

Dreams:

Secretes: (Doesn't have to be anything dark and groundbreaking, but it certainly can be)

Sexuality:

Do you want romance for your character?  
How mature (if ya know what I mean) would they like for their romantic relationships to get?

What type of person do they like romantically and for a friend?

What type of person do they dislike romantically and for a friend?

Would you be alright with me using your character as Truth or Arkiro's love interest? Which one over the other?

Strengths/Pros/Talents:

Weaknesses/Cons/Weak areas:

*Face-claim: (Names, not links)

What does their hose look like?

Are they a virgin?

Are they scared of blood?

How good are they at listening to and following orders?

What makes your character laugh out loud?

What traits do they most like in themselves?

What traits do they most dislike in themselves?

How ambitious are they? (Scale of 1:10)

How do they handle pressure?

How ruthless are they? (Scale of 1:10)

Are they willing to kill and hurt the people that get in their way?  
Are they eager to please?

Do they believe in the Ancestors? If so, do they worship one in particular or all of them?

What's their personal philosophy of life?

Quotes they'd say: (Doesn't have to be brilliant; try your best)

Quotes from a book, song, poem, movie, famous person, etc.: (pinterest is really great for this)

Songs that describe/relate to them in some way: (theme songs basically)

What do you feel is the most important thing for me to know about your character?

If I feel the need to do so, can I change some things about your character?

*Anything you hope for in this story? (can literally be anything at all; I like hearing your ideas)

Will you review? How often?

Anything else you would like to add?


	2. Chapter 2, Dinner, and Company?

_Hi! It's me again, here with another update! Just wanted to let you know I've received a couple characters I like, so keep sending em' in! I still need a few more; if you would like to know what kind of characters I've got so far so you can make something different, just PM me or leave me a review asking and I'll PM you._

 _Oh, and for some reason the line breaks didn't show up last chapter, which made everything run together all confusing like, so I'll try to keep it from doing it this time._

—

" _ **Y**_ ou certainly took your sweet time." It was the first time he'd spoken to me all evening.

I pushed a sweet roll around on my plate, sliding it into a puddle of melted butter and back again.

"The dress was too tight; I'm getting fat," I lied, taking a sip of my water.

Arkiro looked skeptical, a dark eyebrow raised. "You are not. You hardly eat anything at all. It's troubling."

I opted to answer by pointedly slicing a piece of the sweet roll and shoving it in my mouth.

He sat there silently for a moment, contemplative.

"Why are you unhappy?" He said suddenly, flaunting a pale hand through the air, all the food and dishes dispersing into nothingness with a swish and the telltale tingle of magic. He used it so carelessly.

"I was eating that." I grumbled lowly.

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand, much like he did a mere moment before when he robbed me of my dessert.

"I asked you a question, Truth. I expect it to be answered."

I dropped my fork to the table, the only piece of cutlery left in the room. "What makes you think I'm unhappy?"

Arkiro was not amused. "Don't be coy. You tried to kill me yesterday."

My napkin was black, embroidered with hints of twisting silver and gold threads. Instead of looking at him, I focused on pulling them out, one delicate line at a time.

"You were attempting to leave again." He spat the words dryly, not surprised, not disappointed, not accusing- just angry and exhausted. It had not been my first attempt.

"Yes," I said simply, "I was attempting to escape again." The silver threads were gone now.

"You speak as if this were a prison."

The gold ones were sown in quite tightly.

"Isn't it though?"

Arkiro's fist came down on the table. Hard. The noise made me start violently, but I finally managed to yank the first golden line out.

"This is your home."

I didn't say anything.

"Look at me," He implored, calm once again.

I did. He looked tired.

"I don't relish hurting you. I don't like for you to be so morose. I suppose it was wrong, expecting you to be content here with only me and a handful of slaves." He stopped mid-thought, tilting his head. Birdlike, a bird of prey, "What you need are some companions."

This ensnared my attention, and the abused napkin fluttered to the floor by my feet, forgotten.

"Yes," He continued, standing from his throne-like chair at the head of the grandiose table, "That's all you need."

His stride was swift as he came to me, pulling me from my seat and to him in a few graceful movements, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"MorganNight Manor has had Her fill of solitude; it's time She have some company."

—

So, yeah, it's short. Sorry about that.

Submit a character if you like. The form is in the first chapter and on my profile.

If you wanted to envision how Truth looks, I imagine her like a long-haired Crystal Reed. I haven't found a face-claim that does Arkiro justice though, so if you know of some tall, dark, and handsome actor who has villainous intentions and charm written all over him, don't hesitate to tell me in the reviews! As for songs that remind me of him, well, there's no shortage: Control by Halsey, I'm Only Joking by KONGOS, Little Monster by Royal Blood, Blood Hands by Royal Blood, Nobody Praying for Me by Seether, Arsonists Lullaby by Hoizer, Monster by Imagine Dragons, Virgin by Manchester Orchestra, Skin to Bone by Linkin Park, Just One Yesterday by the Fall Out Boy, and sooo many more. I'm serious; I have a year's worth of songs for him.

For Truth, some songs are Take me to Church by Hoizer, Seven Devils by Florence and the Machine, Addicted by Kelly Clarkson, Her Name is Alice by Shinedown, Yellow Flicker Beat by Lorde, Can You Feel My Heart by Bring Me the Horizon, Bitter and Sick by One Two, Girl Like Me by Ladyhawke, We Must be Killers by Mikky Ekko, Mad World by Adam Lambert, and once again many more.

So, do any of you know how to make blogs? Cause' I sure don't. If you would like to make one for me and be an absolute little angel, PM me.


	3. Chapter 3, Isn't She Beautiful?

Look at me, updating at a reasonably quick rate. I'm not used to this; guess I'm just extra inspired by all the awesome characters I've received. Speaking of characters, I think I've almost filled my quota. We'll see though.

The character whose POV this chapter is wrote in is the first character I accepted. By the way, does the fact I'm writing this in first person bother anybody?

—

My heart beat in sync with the horses' hooves, both wild and thunderous. I clasped and unclasped my hands in my lap, pulling a thread from the seams of my breeches. I held myself rigid so the movements of the carriage wouldn't fling me around, even though I felt like squirming.

On a normal day, I was not a nervous person. On a normal day, I would be working or reading or tending to Aspen, the overly rambunctious teenager he was. On a normal day, I would not be reciting my own introduction, as to ensure I did not stutter when it was time to speak.

But it was most certainly not a normal day. No, this day was anything but.

The ominous and ornate gates of _the_ MorganNight Manor loomed before me, their black pointed spokes reaching raggedly into the sky. The gates themselves were made from metal, scrolled and crossed and bound together in impossible shapes, like some type of invasive vine. They heaved a groan and opened, beckoning, beautiful, and yet somehow still inhospitable. We passed through them, the horses prancing excitedly, and I got chills.

Just nerves, more nerves. Or at least that's what I told myself as they slammed behind me with an angry metallic clang. They must've been enchanted.

Behind the gates and their dark brick walls was the Manor itself. Huge, black, and cold. So huge the shadow noticeably darkened the whole lawn, garden, and pathway in front of it. This close, I had to crane my head up at an uncomfortable just to see the top floor's roof. What could one be doing to need a home this large? I hadn't an earthly clue.

There were many large windows and balconies with wide doors, but you could see through none of them. Flanking the Manor on both sides stood a dark tower, their stone glimmering and black, stark white roses climbing them triumphantly, their thorns even visible from below. The roofs of the towers were pointed, a steeple like pole with a sharp end seeming to impale the very sky before curling inward like strange horns.

In the center of the pathway a colossal black marble fountain seemed to break from the ground. It was carved in the shape of one of the Ancestors, identifiable by the massive wings they were sometimes depicted with. This particular depiction was in male form, icy looking water pouring from his right hand into the pool below. In his other hand, the luminous face of a clock with sharp black spokes for numbers was held tenderly.

Tamalia, who had domain over time.

Instantly, I felt a surge of something akin to security. I worshipped all of the Ancestors, save for Akila, but Tamalia was my favorite, the one to whom I felt the most connected. I was thankful for that now, more than ever.

The carriage sped around the fountain, under one of Tamalia's daunting black wings, and stopped on the other side in front of the grand stone stairs that led to the manor. The door I leaned against was yanked open suddenly and I gasped, nearly tumbling out on my face. A man appeared just as swiftly, taking my hand in his white gloved one. The coachman.

"Madame." He voiced politely, speaking with the same warm disinterest all staff reserve for their higher-ups.

I blinked, surprised to be spoken to in that manner of respect.

"Thank you," I replied with genuine gratitude as he assisted me down, even though I didn't really need the help.

My boot clad feet hit the dark stone gently, still wet from the midday rain. Fortunately, it ceased sometime around dinner. It was nearly nightfall now, the orange, purple, and peach of dusk lazing coolly on the sky's canvas, as if it had all the time in the world.

It felt strange, standing there in front of that grand house, if it could even be called a house, unsure of whether or not to enter. I had no luggage either, one of the odd stipulations of coming to the school being not to bring any personal belongings other than what you wore. Something about making the journey more swift. Lucky for me, I had little personal belongings to begin with.

The coachman stood by the massive double-doors, which were ebony and intricately carved with floral like symbols, and motioned me forward with a respectful hand. I shoved down my worries and stepped closer as he knocked on one of the doors gently.

It swung inward instantly, revealing a tiny middle-aged woman with wispy red hair and dark blue servant's dress. It matched the coachman's uniform perfectly.

"Hello," I said, and smiled.

Blankly, she eyed me from head to two. I fidgeted, uncomfortable enough as it was without her stare. She smiled tightly then.

"I am Mona, housekeeper. Please do come in, Miss."

Hastily, I entered, pleased to be out of the cold. Mona shut the door, and I was swathed instant and complete darkness.

Startled, I sidestepped quickly and my leg bumped into something hard, toppling it over with a heavy sounding thud-thunk. A match was lit and Mona's apologetic face illuminated.

"I'm so sorry!" She exclaimed, quickly turning about and lighting a single white candle on a nearby surface. It didn't much help. "I should have warned you; the master likes to keep the Manor dark. It helps with his migraines, you see," She explained, her eyes wide and frantic.

I bent to set right whatever I had knocked over, which was apparently a chair. I rubbed the spot where my leg and it had connected. It was most certainly going to bruise.

"It's quite alright," I rose, giving her my kindest and most reassuring smile, "I'm not afraid of the dark."

The lines in her tanned face relaxed immediately and her eyes became less saucer-like. "You will fit in around here nicely then," She said, but I did detect a hint of wariness.

"Thank you, Mona," I replied, and hoped her statement turned out to be true.

She picked up the candle in a shaky hand, "Follow me and I'll take you to Master Arkiro and Miss Truth."

Blindly, I began trailing her dimly lit silhouette, wishing she'd slow her scurrying. My anxiety again reared its head. Who was Miss Truth? As far as I knew, Lord Arkiro wasn't married, but then again he was a bit of a mystery to most. There were rumors of course (weren't there always?), but I wasn't the kind of person who paid insubstantial and often fabricated tidbits of information much heed. Perhaps this Truth was another student, but I'd find out soon enough anyway.

Mona and I excited that large-feeling, dark room and entered a long dark hallway. Up ahead, I could see a closed door, crevices of light spilling out around it. We came to it, Mona's candle bright enough to show the expensive mahogany wood. She raised a thin hand to knock, but the door was pulled inward before she had even done so once.

This time, instead of being swarmed in shadows, I was blinded by light. A man's form soon blocked the worst of it, and my eyes readjusted again. The man's features came into focus; I gasped audibly.

His eyes were fire- there was no other way to describe them. Normal shaped eyes with the normal whites, but the irises were burning molten color, bright as ember and flame. I went slack-jawed, even though a little voice in the back of my mind informed it was rude to stare.

"Welcome," The man said in a voice like silk, smooth and cool, "I am Lord Arkiro MorganNight, and you must be Miss Clarity HavenGlade. Do come in?"

I came in, still slightly in shock, but I did take note of his odd accent, a crisp proper sound I'd never heard. I liked the way he pronounced my name with it. It made it sound…regal.

The room was a study of sorts. In the center, there was a crackling fireplace, large and framed in black stone with diamond-like cuts. It sparkled and reflected the fire over a thousand times and the size of it made me uncomfortable. At least three people could fit in that hearth, standing and lying- why would you need or want one that big?

There were several silken chairs, black silk of course, arranged in appropriate places. In front of the fireplace was an opaque glass coffee table, also diamond-cut, and on either side of it were two settees that matched the chairs. On one of them was a girl with untamed black hair and skin too pale for it.

She sat unmoving with her legs crossed and her eyes wide. She stared at me for a long moment, no one saying anything, and me wondering if I should. By the mantle of the fireplace, Lord Arkiro poured himself a drink into a crystal cup. It was the only noise.

Suddenly, the girl leapt up, and I stood stunned and completely caught off guard as she hugged me. She was strangely strong for someone about my size, making a girlish sound of glee. She then took me at arms length, face radiant.

"She's beautiful!" She whipped her head around to look at Lord Arkiro, "Isn't she beautiful?" She shook me slightly, and I could only stare. "I'm Truth, and you're Clarity right?"

Arkiro spoke before I could. "Yes, she is. Now stop shaking her. She's neither a pet nor a doll."

Truth released me, having been scolded, but still stayed close.

"I'm sorry," She said, appearing a bit embarrassed, "It's just you're the first person my age I've ever seen. And I've never met any other Elites either, except for.." She trailed off, having motioned toward Arkiro with a delicate arm.

I looked at him, expecting elaborations and explanations, but got neither. He did not appear remotely interested.

"Um, it's okay," I said, a little more than mildly confused and overwhelmed, "You've never met anyone our age before?" I wasn't exactly sure how old 'our age' was, but she couldn't have been much older than my 20 or much younger than my brother's 17.

"Well no," She replied, looking like it should be obvious, and I suppose it kind of was. I felt a headache coming on.

"Truth, you should show Clarity to her room.. She must be exhausted from her journey." Arkiro interjected, swirling his drink in his hand.

Truth looked reluctant; it reminded me of a child who had been told to stop playing with her favorite toy.

"I'll still be here in the morning?" I offered, feeling the need to appease, but I sounded unsure even to my own ears. A tingling danced about on the back of my neck, and it wasn't fairly pleasant.

"Alright," She said, unenthusiastic, and began walking toward the door that led to utter darkness.

I'd have to get used to that. This school was going to be a strange one indeed. Not to mention, where were the teachers and other students? I'd been here for less than thirty minutes and already had accumulated a mass of questions three feet thick.

I quelled my worrying- for now -and once again, I was about to follow someone into the stretching hallway, leading to who knows where.

Arkiro stopped at the study door, opening it for us. "Goodnight, ladies." He said in his smooth, cool, crisp accent, and when we went past my shoulder brushed his arm. It shocked me, an electric zap. The light reflected from it his eyes oddly.

Truth didn't say anything, slipping swiftly into the darkness like some type of ghost. I quickly told him goodnight, as to be polite, and hurried after her, my heart racing.

If I didn't know better (and I did), I'd say Arkiro and Truth might be in the midst of some kind of conflict. This was going to be my home for the better part of the next six months, and I'd much rather prefer if the atmosphere were amicable, so I might just help them resolve it.

After all, how much bad blood could the two possibly have?

And at that, my thoughts were shattered by a bone-chilling scream.


	4. Chapter 4, Ghost killers and Snowballs

I meant to have this chapter up yesterday, but instead I took a trip with my wonderful family. They just don't appreciate my _unique_ humor…*sigh*

—

The hairs on the back of my neck raised straight up, and I stood terrified in the unknown blackness of MorganNight Manor (heavy on the night part). The scream sounded again.

Something cold grasped my arm, and I, scared witless, made an odd keening noise in the back of my throat. An almost scream of my own.

It was only Truth, her pale face seemingly floating in midair, disguised by her ebony hair. I instantly went toward her.

"What was that?" I whispered, her nails gently digging into the skin of my arm.

She didn't answer, instead peering behind us conspiratorially.

"Where's Arkiro?" She hissed.

"He's right behind-" I looked back to the bright doorway, our only source of light, to plainly see he was no longer there. My heart rate intensified immediately.

"I'm right here."

Truth and I both jumped violently to the sound of the deep, cold voice, whirling about dramatically.

There stood Lord Arkiro, immaculate and at home in the thick, stifling darkness, the shadows dancing on his features like a wavering candle. His eyes shined gently and his mouth hinted at a grin, but in this light I couldn't be sure.

"We need to go find out who that was." Truth sounded determined, her delicate jaw clenched like steel. She eyed Arkiro accusingly, as if daring him to say otherwise, or somehow…blaming him.

He nodded once, in agreement, and turned to stride down the echoing corridor. Truth followed him, leaving me in the only circle of light, staring after them into nothingness. I stayed there for a mere moment before dashing after the both of them, petrified of being left alone here. In this house.

I caught up quickly, and Truth cast me a weary, dark look over her shoulder.

"Welcome home," She said, sounding so bleak and so dreary I wanted to reach out and hug her. But I didn't; I didn't even know what she meant.

We were back in the huge room from earlier- I recognized the empty, creeping feel of it. Arkiro stopped short, and held up a hand. Truth and I froze and listened.

There. I heard it.

Somewhere close, I heard soft, pained little whimpers. Without thinking, I went toward them, stomping my fear down as far as it would go.

In the center of the room was an elaborate black stone tile shaped like a three-pronged spiral, illuminated by the hazy moonlight that streamed in from a skylight high above in a sweeping dome. On the tile, a huddled shaking figure laid, the moon reflecting from a pool of crimson that seeped out from around them. I kneeled by their hurting form, accidentally wetting my hands in it.

I rolled the figure over and grimaced: It was Mona, the housekeeper. Her dark eyes were glassy and unseeing. She was alive, but just barely. A weeping angry red line was drawn across her neck- a slit throat.

Behind me, someone cried out - Truth. She fell to her knees by Mona, gathering the woman to her quaking chest.

"Do something!" She wailed, "Do something, Arkiro please."

I sat there, staring at the blood on my hands and my knees. I'd never seen so much before.

"Do something," She begged again, her voice strained desperation. Arkiro was unmoving, still as a statue.

"Truth, you know the only thing I can do for her is lessen her pain. She's too far gone now."

Truth sobbed and buried her face into the woman's shoulder, the blood marring her white arms and hands and cheeks. It wasn't a pretty contrast.

I felt shocked, shaken, and my voice sounded like it. "Then do it." Arkiro looked at me oddly. "Lessen her pain," I said, stronger this time.

Stiffly, he leaned down, placing his hands on the dying woman's back. Around them the area was illuminated softly, and the veins in his hands throbbed black. A muscle in his jaw ticked, his shoulders tensed, and I realized with rapt fascination that he was absorbing her pain into himself.

Mona's whimpering ceased, and her sporadic shakes quit as well. A long sigh escaped her lips, and then she was gone. Truth held her more tightly, sobbing and trying to be quiet about it.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I silently prayed to the Ancestors to welcome Mona. I knew Tamalia would collect her soul; I could draw some small comfort from that. I wiped my hand down a leg of my pants and then rested it on Truth's shoulder. She hiccupped, trying in vain to quench her tears, but she did lift her head.

"She did this," Truth said shakily, and for a bizarre moment I thought she was talking about me, but she had looked straight at Arkiro.

"The Manor did this; I know She did."

I was perplexed, sure that Truth was only confused in her grief, and expected Arkiro to tell her so. But he did not. He only looked grave.

"She's angry because I was happy. She hates me."

Arkiro scoffed, "If She is indeed angry, it's because of something far more serious than that," He rose quickly, pulling both me and Truth with him, "Go to your room Truth, and keep Clarity there with you. No one else needs to die tonight."

He began to walk away swiftly, but Truth reached out and grabbed his sleeve.

"Where are you going?" Her voice was high, her eyes wide.

"To ensure nothing is gravely wrong. I should be back by morning," He caressed her blood-stained cheek, smearing his hand with it, "Now off to bed with you. The both of you."

—

In a daze, I led Clarity to my room. She said things, but she might as well have been speaking another language. I didn't comprehend anything.

My head pounded and throbbed as if angry little men were inside beating it with hammers. My vision was blurry; I swiped at my eyes, but it was inside that was messed up. It always was.

I laid on my bed. The room was dark and it was cold, but I didn't want any warmth right now. Cold - numb - was good. Darkness crept in, and sleep overtook me.

But only for a minute.

Something warm and wet touched my face, and I lurched up, the words of a spell on my lips.

It was only Clarity, her face alarmed and her hand frozen in midair, holding a washcloth with pink stains on it.

"Sorry," I croaked, flopping back down on my favorite feather pillow.

"It's fine," She said, "Everything's fine."

I wondered if that was more for herself than it was for me, but hey- whatever worked, worked.

"You don't have to do that."

She shook her head, and smiled, a rueful expression.

"I'm used to this. Aspen, my brother, he is always getting himself into a fine mess. He's about your age, I think."

I yawned, lassitude creeping into every inch of my being.

"How old?" I murmured, words slurring a bit.

"Seventeen."

"That's my age."

And that's the last I contributed to that conversation before her gentle wiping lulled me to sleep.

—

The wind tore at my hair like an angry beast, and I threw my head back into it, laughing. _Yank all you like, wind._ I dug my heels into the horse's flanks, urging the animal faster faster faster.

"Come on, Sojo, let's show this scoundrel how it's done." The horse lunged forward, thrilled at the speed. I wove my hands into the wind-licked gray mane, riding low on Sojo's neck. No saddle for this girl.

I heard the boy laugh, a loud boisterous sound. "Nice try, real nice try." He kicked his horse, using the long leather reins as a whip of sorts. He barreled up along side Sojo and I, grinning wickedly. Neck and neck, our animals ran side by side.

"Where'd you find that hag?" I jested.

The boy's eyes widened in mock offense. "Hag? I'll have you know this is Devil, a genuine warhorse."

I laughed, speeding up again, "Sure he is. And I'm the Gem Queen."

He followed suit, but still lagging behind some, "Then my sincerest apologies, dear majesty. I thought you'd be fatter."

I snorted, amused by his teasing.

"And more well-mannered too." He whistled shrilly, and his _warhorse_ thundered ahead, flinging up dirt as he went. I shielded my eyes and the boy and his horse reached the large rock face up ahead, the decided check point for our little race.

I brought Sojo to a swift trot and stopped him completely once I reached my grinning companion.

"Don't feel too bad girly, now you can tell all your friends you _almost_ beat a warhorse in a race. Bareback at that. Color me impressed," He held out a rough, calloused hand to me, "Casimir SeaGlass."

I took his hand, shaking it firmly, "Zinnia Petrovja."

"A lovely name for a lovely girl." He winked and I rolled my eyes, pulling my captive hand from his grasp before he could kiss it.

"Not a princess buddy. No hand kissing."

He laughed his full, loud laugh.

"Of course not. You're the Gem Queen, remember? Queens deserve more than that."

"And strange men who kiss queens deserve death sentences."

He quirked a scarred brow, "She's mean too, figure that."

I chuckled, signaling Sojo to turn about with my legs.

"And where are you headed, majesty?"

"Don't call me that, and if you must know I'm heading to MorganNight Manor."

He clicked his tongue and his horse began walking alongside mine. "Well, this must be fate. That happens to be my intended destination as well."

I looked him over. Muscular, wiry build. Rough, working man's hands. Scarred face, wild silver eyes, dark military-cut hair. He was no noble man. But then again, look at me.

"Really?" I questioned, skeptical.

"You doubt my honest integrity? You wound me, woman." He held a dramatic hand over his heart.

"Yes because your persona just screams honesty. But hey, if this Boarding School thing doesn't work out for you, go into acting."

"And if it does not work out for you, dear Zinnia, go into horseracing. Or some profession which allows young ladies to mortally wound others with their words."

"Aw, poor Cas. Did I hurt your ego?"

"A bit, majesty, but never fear. I am resilient."

"Did anyone ever tell you you're-"

He grinned from ear to ear, interrupting, "Dashing, irresistible, handsome, perfection?"

"A shit."

Casimir raised a studious finger to his chin, pretending to think very hard, "Come to think of it, I may have heard that a few times."

"A few? I'm surprised that's not what your parents named you."

"Now now, Queen Zinnia. That wasn't very nice."

"I never thought about that. I apologize."

"You know, sarcasm isn't a good look on you."

"You know, talking isn't a good look on you."

His grin broadened, revealing a set of perfectly straight, white teeth. "I have a feeling we're going to be friends."

"I have a feeling your feelings are often wrong."

"Rarely, majesty, rarely."

It was a long ride to the Manor. Morning crept up on the horizon, but she was a cold one. It didn't affect me much, but Casimir's cheeks were wind-bitten and pink. I did notice, thank the Ancestors, that it quieted him a bit.

"You know what, this place is for me. I rather like it. Yes, definitely. It's final- I'm getting a manor of my own one day."

But only a bit.

We stared up at the gates- huge ugly things that screamed fairytale cliché. The place even had towers for princesses to be locked up in, melodramatically awaiting for their princes to rescue them. Unluckily for them, there was only Casimir. He was no prince.

The gates opened on their own accord, and our horses danced around uncomfortably.

"Easy, Sojo," I whispered, stroking the beast's warm neck.

Casimir clicked and Devil began walking into the gray courtyard. There was no color; everything, and I do mean everything, was either gray, black, or white. I grew up in the frigid, snow heaped mountains, and they had more life than this place. The only living thing was the gray grass and the white, monstrously sized roses scaling the towers.

In the center of the courtyard was a fountain carved to look like Tamalia, judging by the colossal clock he held. Even he, meant to be a symbol of divinity, looked out of place here. We reached the door, and dismounted. I wondered what we were supposed to do with our horses.

"Isn't there supposed to be a butler or something?" Casimir questioned.

"Let's see." I said, banging on the door. We waited and … nothing. I banged again, harder this time. And still no one.

"Let's just go in." Cas said.

"And take our horses with us?"

There was a sudden noise on the other side of the door, like someone undoing a seriously heavy duty bolt lock.

Me and Cas looked at each other.

The door was opened slowly, but just enough to peek through.

"Who is it?" A girl's voice called.

"Casimir SeaGlass and Zinnia Petrovja, students. Who are you?" Demanded Cas.

More locks were undone; I counted at least three plus the other big one. Who the hell were these people expecting?

The girl pulled the door open wider, revealing that there were in fact two girls standing there. The one who opened the door had bed-wrecked black hair, palest of pale skin, and dark circles under her eyes. The other girl was noticeably shorter, had long dirty blond hair, and weary looking brown eyes. They both wore expressions that could be called shell-shocked.

Casimir strode in, whistling. "MorganNight must be loaded- just look at this place."

I did.

It was too grand, too big, too much for the eyes to take in. I had the faintest impression its splendor was to distract from something else. It did a fair job; I couldn't put my finger on it.

We were in a massive foyer. It's ceiling was huge and domed in the center, a skylight shaped like a cross nestled in the dome. The floor was tiled in a pattern: black, white, black, white. Each tile was shaped like something different, yet they all fit together perfectly. Its complexity gave me a headache.

"Who are you?" I asked the girls, repeating Cas's earlier question.

The blond haired girl spoke first, "I'm Clarity HavenGlade." She had bloodstains on her pants; I looked at her suspiciously.

The black haired girl had blood on her clothes too. "I'm Truth."

I shook my head slowly, "Uh huh…"

Casmir walked about with a stupid grin on his face, touching every little thing he came to. He turned and looked at the girls; his grin went away.

"If it's not too terribly personal, may I inquire as to why you two are smeared in blood?"

They glanced down at the stains, as if seeing them for the first time.

"My housekeeper was killed last night." Truth said bluntly.

Casmir chuckled nervously.

"Who did it?" I asked, morbidly curious. I wanted to know if I was going to be living with a murderer.

"A ghost." Answered Truth, causing the blond haired- Clarity to gasp.

Casimir clapped his hands together, "Well, that explains absolutely everything."

Truth looked puzzled, glancing around at all our unbelieving faces, "You've all seen ghosts before, right?"

"Well no," Said Clarity, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

I laughed, "You mean to tell me this manor is haunted? That's rich."

"And hopefully not the truth," Quipped Casimir, looking pale.

"Don't worry," Said Truth, "She's not vicious most of the time. Arkiro seemed to think something upset her last night."

I wasn't sure if she was kidding or not.

Cas stepped close to me, stage whispering. "She can't be serious."

"Well, her name is Truth, so."

"How did you get here?" Truth asked.

"We rode." I said, "And we need a place to put our horses."

A light seemed to click on in Truth's eyes. "You rode? Not in a carriage?":

I wrinkled my nose. "Not really a carriage kind of girl."

Truth quirked her mouth, mischievous-like. "I can show you to the stables, if you like."

"That'd be great, thanks."

We followed Truth out the door and into the colorless courtyard. She was surprisingly swift, the girl, and slipped around the corner of the manor with a little skip in her step. Clarity fell into step beside me.

"So, where are you from?" She asked pleasantly.

I eyed her, seeing if she was genuine or not.

"The mountains. I live in a village there."

"It must be cold," She remarked.

"It is," I agreed.

There was an awkward silence until something cold and wet splattered across both our backs. Clarity shrieked in surprise. I, on the other hand, whirled about fuming.

Casimir stood there, grinning insolently. He faked an innocent expression, "Something wrong, ladies?"

I bent and scooped up a handful of last night's snow. I used my magic to freeze it more solidly, patting it between my hands. Then, with all the force I could muster, I hurled it at Casimir. It hit his face satisfyingly, and he made a noise of surprise or pain or both.

I bellowed out laughter, and he shook his head like a wet dog. He smirked and I instantly dove to the ground for more snow. This was war.

We commenced to pelting each other with snowballs until there was barely any snow left unused; then we made more. Clarity had joined in, unable to resist such childish fun.

An especially large snowball smacked my face, and I spat the magic-tasting stuff out. It was Truth. She laughed manically as I shot it back at her, diving behind a gray-bark tree. The horses ran for cover as our snow fight intensified. We all looked like we'd been caught in a mountain blizzard. My brother would be proud.

At the same time, we all attempted to conjure more snow, but instead of the small pile I had imagined there was an icy artic burst that sent us flying in all directions. I groaned, having collided with Clarity. Snow fell from the sky in large, fat flakes. We'd managed to manipulate the weather. We stared, star-struck.

"What in the name of the Ancestors do you think you are doing." A tall man materialized, snowflakes landing in his dark hair and on his dark clothing. He looked pissed, eyes ablaze- quite literally.

It was Lord Arkiro, it could be no one else.


End file.
